


Timeless: AKA the One Where Lance and Keith Completely Disregard the Butterfly Effect

by keefffff



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Keith (Voltron), BAMF Lance (Voltron), Banter, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Tattoos, Time Travel, everyone's history is flawed, just humurous, kinda doctor who with no angst except pining and no death, one day i will write something where Lance and Keith aren't kinda OP, rated cuz keith and lance like to curse, this is not meant to be offensive, today is not that day, updates may take a bit i’m applying to college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keefffff/pseuds/keefffff
Summary: Lance McClain is a permanent 19 year old whose plans to fuck up the time continuum were thwarted when he found out that what he did in the past had no influence on the present. Now he drags Hunk along on his adventures as he messes around in different time periods and confronts nearly every historical figure he was forced to learn about as a kid.Keith Kogane is a time traveler who has spent far too much time in feudal Japan and is now determined to make the most of his abilities as possible. To Shiro's chagrin that means pissing off far too many royal families and leading famous adventurers off on wild goose chases because they insulted his look.It's as they say: nothing ties people together like the power of time travel and a distaste for authority. (That's how the saying goes... right?)
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78





	Timeless: AKA the One Where Lance and Keith Completely Disregard the Butterfly Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now listen here, Mr. Penguin..."

To some degree, every Altean knew the name Lance McClain. It was a fairly small population and people liked to talk about him... a lot. 

What they said, however, differed greatly. Some people spent  _ way _ too much time muttering under their breath about Lance and his “waste of talent.” These people adored pretending that they were so far superior when really it was their time they were wasting talking about someone who truly couldn’t care less about their approval (or so he claimed). Others took a more aesthetic approach because it was certainly undeniable that Lance’s genes had been kind to him, what with his bright blue eyes and effortlessly charming words (or at least he  _ says  _ it's effortless). Most just thought him an irresponsible teenager (and they weren’t  _ wrong  _ per se).

Lance knew many people, but only a rare few  _ truly  _ knew him. And those that did would merely laugh when they heard the whispers about the teenager behind his back. Because Lance McClain may be dramatic, immature and irresponsible, but he was not someone to mess with. 

Underestimating him would prove a crucial mistake. 

* * *

“Excuse me sirs,” came an annoyed but formal voice, the man’s clipped British accent sounding both haughty and pretentious, as if he would rather be dealing with any other table than the one he was being forced to serve at that moment. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to Lance’s already very irritated ears. 

“If you could be so kind as to remove yourselves from the top of the table that would be most agreeable. There are seats available if you would rather not stand, simply pull them out from under the table on which you are currently seated.” His tone paired with his snobby accent, black and white clothing and tray of champagne flutes (champagne had only been recently created by the famous Dom Perignon so it was really quite exciting these days)  _ screamed  _ rude English waiter even if what he was saying was probably not as bad as Lance was interpreting it (he was  _ not  _ doing great at the moment). 

Now generally, Lance  _ lived  _ for rude service, for some reason it cracked him up when people threw his silverware at him (a shockingly unpopular opinion). Moreover he loved British accents, posh or not. In fact, more often than not, despite their  _ terrible _ imperialistic history, consistent religious persecution, the general (and unfortunately numerous) bumps in the road to democracy, a consistent belief in their own Western superiority and well  _ fucking slavery  _ (such a huge black mark on their resume), Lance generally sided with the British in the majority of the major European or World wars. 

Besides, Britain’s problems were quite similar to those of nearly every other World Power, their faults were not just that of  _ their  _ people, they were that of the human race as a whole. 

However,  _ today _ , today he  _ didn’t  _ want to deal with it. Today he was whole new levels of tired which meant that he didn’t give a shit whether or not he was being a rude asshole (and he most certainly was), especially when the person asking him to get off was also a rude asshole. 

Being rude to service workers was a no no, but this wasn’t some drive through with a cheery chick-fil-a greeting that didn’t quite match their politics (boycott those homophobes). No it was some prick who was seemingly determined to make every request sound like he was cursing your existence with a voodoo doll under the table. 

Hunk, predictably, did  _ not  _ share his sentiments.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! We will do that promptly… if thou want it,” Hunk replied frantically, looking both sick in the face and apologetic, scrambling to get off the table even if his blue eyed companion had made no move to stand up. 

Lance would later moan regretfully (and with copious amounts of embarrassment) at his actions because he really was a nice and friendly guy, he was just in a certain  _ mood,  _ so instead of “removing himself from the top of the table,'' Lance made a face, his legs swinging back and forth off the table’s edge-- taunting.

“Really, Hunk? Thou? This is the eighteenth century, not the fourteenth.” 

Unsurprisingly, Hunk ignored him and continued to apologize profusely to the stuck up waiter who remained indifferent to the kind apologies. Lance zoned off once again, bored watching his friend being ignored by someone who… was apparently currently tapping his shoulder. With evident irritation, Lance narrowed his eyes at the offending finger. 

“Sir? If I must repeat myself-”

With a loud groan, Lance rolled his eyes in annoyance, still not moving to get up but instead brandishing his fork like a dagger. “Now listen here, Mr. Penguin,” he began angrily, ignoring Hunk’s sigh of disappointment and muttered “here we go again”. “I get it, you’re British, you’re proud, congratulations. But you know what? I’ll sit on this table if I want! Yeah, that’s right. Watcha gonna do now buckaroo?” 

If Lance had been in a better mental state, he might have realized that he  _ should  _ just get off the table because he  _ was  _ in the wrong and an annoyed voice did  _ not  _ justify acting like an ass. But he wasn’t and he was definitely going to suffer the backlash of karma. 

“Lance, can you please not? You really shouldn’t be on the table, it’s rude.”

A hand was shoved into Hunk’s face. “Not now, Bestie. I am in the middle of something. And as for you, Snooty McSnootface- just you wait till the colonies  _ kick your ass _ .” To emphasize this point he brought the fork up to his neck in a violent motion. 

The waiter seemed unfazed by Lance’s outbursts, still staring at him with that same haughty expression, looking nearly bored. The rest of the parlor, however, was not quite so forgiving, watching them with annoyance and whispering to their companions with hushed yet clearly judging tones. 

“Yeah, that's right! Check and mate.” He fearlessly persevered, too annoyed at the previous events of the day or should he say the previous events of the Medieval times. First, he had stepped in the shit that everyone in that era just  _ threw out their window _ . Then, the jester had been historically unfunny (something about humor not remaining the same across centuries) which had only been exacerbated by the dumb wealthy elites that had pranced around Hunk and Lance, completely oblivious to their skills. 

For the  _ thousandth  _ time, Lance had questioned why he let Hunk drag him into courts, the appeal of ladies and their wigs diminishing the farther back in time they went. But his best friend was always attracted to the idea of food and drink even if it meant schmoozing their way around snobby assholes and pretending to be people they weren’t (though he didn’t mind that part as much). 

It was  _ especially  _ difficult because Lance was Cuban, Hunk Hawaiian, and thus the two had to go to great measures to avoid racist words and attacks because their skin was a little too dark for the absolute dicks of that time. Mostly they attempted to pretend they were simply very tan from “working in the fields” or some bullshit like that, but that was far harder in courts with people who performed  _ zero  _ manual labor. But they managed with heavy makeup and fancy clothes.

At the glares of the people around him, Lance grew more and more annoyed and made what was probably his best decision ever. 

He got on the table and began to give a speech.

“You guys think you’re  _ all that _ . But you’re not, ‘cause when the colonies declare independence you guys are gonna lose, that's right. And you’re all gonna be like ‘ _ Oh they whiny bout taxes but they started the seven years war!’  _ and lemme just say- bullshit! It was always gonna happen. You’re gonna give them freedom and all of a sudden take it away and then be like  _ ‘what? _ ’ I mean are you completely oblivious to human nature? Maybe I’m a  _ little _ biased because of the American school system, which is sorta absolute shit but that’s off topic, but I’ve also been there so I have some credibility. Granted I was hanging with colonists but you know who cares-” Lance’s voice dripped with exaggeration, dramatics and general annoyance; everything he said was punctuated by some hand motion.

Angry British gentlemen were beginning to rise from their seats, something incredibly less terrifying when they had to set down their drinks first and rise from unnecessarily posh couches in order to advance (what are they gonna do- sue him?). 

“And maybe the colonies  _ did _ pass their borders, I will admit they are total assholes when it comes to like Manifest Destiny bullshit, but like there was  _ no way  _ they’d want to be colonies forever. Kids have to leave the nest eventually, especially when you let them go out and party every night but then they accidentally spend some money and piss off some people and you’re like “ _ whattt so unexpected.”  _ In fact they had literally already had a conference considering independence! I would know because I was there. And furthermore-“

What Lance had been planning to say got cut off as he felt himself being pulled harshly backwards by the collar of his shirt. The people in the room were still muttering angrily and scoffing at him, nobody quite understanding just how much truth rang in the strange young boy’s words, but everyone was calming down as the disruptive teenager was seemingly dealt with. 

He twisted his head around to see who was dragging him out of the parlor, hearing Hunk’s surprised and worried groan as he too had his shirt fisted. A flash of white appeared in his peripheral vision, followed by his realization that the hand on his collar was far too cold to be skin. A prosthetic arm and a flash of white could only mean one thing...

“ _ Shiro _ ?”

“Shut up boys, here I’m Chester. Chester Arthur.” 

Man how Lance missed that authoritative voice, though he would have been much happier if he hadn’t just been rudely interrupted and yanked into the street. 

“Chester…” Lance deadpanned. “Shiro,  _ what the fuck  _ are you doing here with a dumb name like that?”

Shiro sighed with exasperation. “Lance! Quiet!”

On the other side of Shiro, Hunk looked ready to cry, as if being pulled along was making him feel sick.

Lance’s annoyance had not been disrupted by the appearance of his old friend, so he continued his mission to piss everyone off until they were in the same state. “You know Shiro, you do not look like a Chester. In fact, none of us here look British! For someone so… I don’t know… leadership-y man you are literally so lucky you're all muscular and cool.”

Shiro paused as if considering Lance’s words. Finally he sighed, walking over to a stand and grabbing three plain looking coats with hoods. The older man moved to walk away, without even attempting to pay, to the great outrage of the burly man behind the counter whose face was already fat and red, a thick mustache decorating his upper lip. 

With heavy amusement, Lance waited to watch as Shiro felt the repercussions of avoiding human affairs, a side effect of participation in his little Altean gang of which Lance was not a part of. Needless to say the older man wasn’t quite prepared for the fallout of his attempted yet unintentional theft. “You can’t just take that!” 

Shiro stopped abruptly and unsuspecting, always polite and soft for a man with a scar across his nose and prosthetic arm hidden under his sleeves. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” he said. “Um… we don’t have any money.”

The man at the stand was growing impossibly red with anger, fury painted all over his already threatening features.

“C’mon, Shiro let's just leave.” Lance said as his best friend became very nervous, always a timid soul. 

The older man shook his head, considering their options and mildly oblivious to the fat angry vendor who was still fuming even after Shiro offered, “We can work?” 

Lance sighed, annoyed at the proceedings, annoyed with his day, annoyed that his rant was interrupted and annoyed at the man’s stupid mustache on his stupid face. 

Has he mentioned he was annoyed?

So he did what he did best: made everything chaotic by taking the coats and beginning to run. 

“No! Lance, not again!” Hunk cried, yelling in despair yet resigned to his fate, taking off behind Lance. “You know I hate this, and you know you’re faster than me. Look at you, you literally look faster.”

It was true, Hunk was fairly slow on his feet, his size and muscles intimidating but his jolly roundness softening any effect they had. Lance on the other hand, was lean, his legs long and strong from years of running and fighting. 

There was a pause where neither the vendor nor Shiro moved, the latter’s strong features characterized by surprise and frustration as he finally came to his senses and took off after the running boys, yelling angrily at Lance. 

“Stop them!” the angry man yelled, the people in the streets parting despite his calls, unwilling to stand in front of them and get trampled. The officers, on the other hand, were not quite so generous. 

“Lance!”

Man he was in for such a huge lecture. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know Shiro, let’s just concentrate right now.”

They turned around the bend, Hunk beginning to fall behind. “Time to act!” Lance called out. “Hunk, Shiro, put on your coats!” 

He struggled to get his hands through the holes while avoiding tripping, nearly eating shit, before pulling his hood up and turning around to make sure his friends did the same. Having been well experienced with running away from the authorities, Lance opened his mouth to speak but Hunk began to object, knowing what was about to be suggested.

“Oh no, we are not doing that. Don’t even try!” Hunk said, his voice panicked. He was completely out of breath, each word punctuated by an intake of air. 

There was no need to argue why splitting up would be the best decision despite Hunk’s reluctance because Shiro was apparently thinking the same thing and he was always the ultimate voice of authority, especially in Hunk’s eyes. 

“Split up!” came the order. 

A loud groan came from behind them. “Come on, Shiro- I just told Lance no!”

Unfortunately for Hunk, he was ignored as both Shiro and Lance peeled away, trying to get lost in the crowd. The officers hovered at the edge of the mass of people, attempting to scan the tops of heads but seemingly not finding them. 

After a few minutes of wandering through the crowd, weaving in between bodies and even managing to accidentally trip a few innocents, Lance was finally absolutely sure that he had lost the police, but he found himself being pulled violently into an alleyway and onto the ground by an angry Shiro and rattled Hunk. 

He pulled himself off the dirty floor, wiping his hands casually. “Hey guys! You’re welcome for that save.”

Shiro grabbed his collar once more, ignoring Lance’s groan of “C'mon, Shiro this is getting tiring”, pulling him all the way to his hotel room as Hunk rambled nervously in the background, eyes shifting back and forth and head on a swivel despite numerous instructions to not act suspicious. 

Once they were finally inside, Shiro locked the door behind him as Lance quickly examined the room, noticing the large backpack lying on the floor which was still packed despite the messy, unmade bed.   


“You’re a very smart kid, Lance. Clever, you think on your feet and man you got guts. But why? Why do you feel the need to antagonize everyone constantly?! You use all this intricate knowledge of history, everything you pick up on your travels to yell at innocent Brits, who may I remind you, you are normally a fan of cause you, and I quote, ‘like their accents’”. He shook his head, holding his hand out for the coats. “I just don’t get it.”

Lance was conflicted, on the one hand he felt complimented, preening at Shiro’s kinder words. However, he also felt a familiar stir of irritation at the older’s more accusatory statements which he had heard thousands of times before. “First, the British need criticism sometimes, just like every nation ever from America to Spain. Second… look Shiro, I’ve told you this time and time before. I like to travel and experience everything, I like to meet people and socialize.”

“By socialize do you mean piss everyone off?”

“Ok no,” Lance defended. “This time was different, I swear.”

Hunk furrowed his eyebrows “Well actually, Lance, we get into trouble like that all the time because-”

“Shush. Shiro, please excuse my partner’s slander.”

“Look,” the older man sighed. “I get it, you’re young.”

Lance scoffed, “hardly. I’m 25 years old, excuse you.”

“You chose to be 19, Lance. Thus your mind will permanently be that of a teenager.”

“And yet, experience is partially responsible for intelligence. Just because my brain didn’t develop beyond my body’s age doesn’t mean I haven’t gained knowledge. Besides you chose to stay 25 so you’re not some perfect picture of maturity. Eat shit.”

Shiro sat back, looking at Lance in consideration. “You’re a strange teenager.” 

“You’ve only known me for five years. It takes six to unlock my true secrets,” he joked, slightly uncomfortable with Shiro’s scrutiny. 

“Why not join us Lance?” The older man asked for probably the thousandth time since they met. The teenager collapsed onto the bed, his mind plagued with worries that he was keeping Hunk from joining with Pidge in Shiro’s little gang, but that group was so concerned with the Galra and with creating a united nation of remaining Alteans. It was just… exhausting. 

The Alteans and the Galra had been going head to head for thousands of years, both time traveling species that look exactly like humans, which made combat quite different, the two sides often taking advantage of major wars to fight. But long before Shiro, Hunk or Lance were even born, the Galran had eliminated the majority of the Alteans, leaving their numbers scarce. The only people Lance knew who were present for the genocide were Allura and Coran, two other members of Shiro’s posse. 

The hunt for Alteans was still ongoing, leading to the species’ integration into human culture, something that was previously scorned upon which was why Allura and Coran preferred to avoid the affairs of humanity.

But Lance and his immortal family had grown up with humans, his childhood spent smack dab in the middle of Cuban society and his teenage years characterized by his slow adjustment to the American way of life. 

This was where he belonged, walking among and living with humanity, not in some nation of Alteans. He might have been an Altean but he considered himself a human at heart.

Both the Galrans and Alteans had the power to travel through time and it had been determined that nothing done in the past had any effect on the present. And despite the human science fiction about traveling forward in time to the future, this proposed that the future had already happened, was set in stone. But it had not, it was constantly being transcribed, not influenced by actions in the past but rather actions in the present. And there was a  _ present,  _ a certain point in time that nobody could move past and was constantly changing.

There were also strict rules about traveling. You could never travel to the same exact place twice, for fear of meeting yourself (though you could go to a different city at the same time). When talking to other travelers it was imperative that you either remained very vague or you determined the traveler’s age. Different people had different strategies to combat this. Lance got tattoos for every year that passed (small ones generally not like his sleeve). Others changed their hair like Shiro whose white tuft wasn’t always that cool and drew attention whenever he deigned to venture into humanity. Allura and Coran had marks on their cheeks that changed color yearly. Ancient Alteans used to have this feature  _ built in  _ but it has lost its commonality. 

The Alteans and the Galran, despite both having the same powers,  _ were not the same _ , their stark differences having divided them since the beginning of time. The biggest difference was that while the Galran aged like humanity, the Alteans had been made immune to time itself, and therefore resisted aging.

Whenever an Altean felt they had reached the age they wished to remain for the rest of their life, they would stop the aging process and their body would be immortalized in that state forever. Granted, both species could be  _ killed  _ but the Altean’s resistance to time was a source of great resentment.

Lance thought this was irrational because there were plenty of Alteans who thought that they’d get better looking with time so they didn’t end their aging till much later. 

Is it worth being immortal if you are immortally stuck with arthritis? For someone who had ended their loop at age 19, that would be a no. He avoided saying this aloud because it often got him dirty looks.

Lance’s choice to remain 19 had been controversial for many, all his friends had told him that he was too young, too immature. But the Cuban had been at his prime: he was good looking, no one could deny it with his sharp jaw, pretty blue eyes, charming grin and lean body. He was completely healthy, athletic, smart enough to survive. 

It had been 6 years since he made that choice, and he had never regretted it. His personality, and his goals just  _ fit _ being young, he liked remaining a teenager. The downside? All potential Altean romantic interests were doomed to be older than him. 

Additionally, because of his choice, Lance was often looked down upon, he knew it. Allura, despite being barely older at 22, never truly trusted him, Coran who was 30 was extremely nice but also blunt and constantly brought up his age. Even Hunk had chosen 21, having grown up in Hawaii and wanting to drink in America. Pidge was still growing and hadn’t stopped their aging yet. 

It didn’t help that Lance was fairly young in terms of Altean years as well, being only 25. Hunk was around 40, Shiro was 60, Adam 55, and Allura was over a hundred (she refused to give exact details). 

But despite this layered distrust, Shiro had offered an invitation into their tight knit group many times. It was a lucrative offer, Lance was acutely aware of this fact, and he knew Hunk wanted to join but didn’t want to lose his friend. 

Shiro and Lance were friends, but the Cuban knew the older man wanted him to join because he was worried he couldn’t handle himself. 

Lance had been traveling alone ever since he was still aging, having left his home at 18 but never forgetting to visit often, and he was well experienced with the world, having gone everywhere possible. 

Two years after he chose to stop aging, he and Hunk had decided to travel together. 

He loved his best friend, but sometimes he felt guilty because the big man was nervous constantly, always having to be pulled into adventures. But Lance was a people person, he preferred traveling with a friend, a close friend and there was no one else but Hunk that he could turn to. 

From an outside perspective, becoming a member of Shiro’s gang seemed like an ideal for Lance, but the group was far too involved in Altean affairs and wasn’t willing to do what Lance wanted to do. He was immortal and he wanted to travel the world and see famous events and save people from Pompeii and attend concerts of bands at their prime. 

He didn’t want to spend his time finding other Alteans or playing it safe. What was the point of that?

“Look Shiro, everytime you ask my answer remains the same. One day, maybe, but not now. I’ve got too much to do, and while I don’t object to going on a couple adventures with you, I have my own agenda.” 

Shiro sighed, disappointed even though he knew it was coming. Hunk couldn’t hide his disappointment as well and Lance felt a sharp spike of guilt stab him in the stomach. “Hunk, you can go, you know that right?” He offered. He would be sad to see his friend leave but he’d be willing to sacrifice it for Hunk.

“I could never leave you alone,” Hunk dismissed before turning back to Shiro. “Speaking of which, why _are_ you here?”

Shiro collapsed onto the bed glumly, “I have an issue.”

Lance sat on the floor, crossed legged, as Hunk settled heavily into a desk chair. Shiro eyed Lance from his elevated seat, an eyebrow raised at the teenager’s choice to take up residence on the carpet rather than the open armchair. “Sometimes Lance you really remind me of K-”

“Shiro, focus,” Hunk said, snapping his fingers. 

The older man shook his head and lifted his eyes up. “As you know, my team doesn’t really deal with humans, we’re pretty unaccustomed to it, especially Allura and Coran considering, well, you know. And I could use some help beyond just me because both Adam and Pidge are out on a run together and-“

“Shiro, please get to the point,” Lance cut in. 

“Well, we need to break someone out of prison.”

“ _ What?!”  _ The two friends said in unison. “How do you expect us to help you there?! And why?”

“A while back, I heard of this man who knew about our worlds, having fallen in love with an Altean before. But because of the danger, she had left him and the man was left desperate to contact her. He made a mistake and believed a Galra who pretended he was an Altean and the man was eventually used as bait to catch the girl.”

Lance and Hunk both winced in sympathy. 

“But before the woman could arrive or even know about the man’s capture, the man claims that one of the Galra helped him escape.”

“One of the Galra saved him?” Lance questioned, surprised. Hunk’s face was also screwed up in confusion. 

“Apparently. See the woman the man loved was friends with Allura, that’s how we know him. Eventually, he told us that this one Galran had managed to fight off over four others, single handedly. And when we asked  _ how,  _ he said that the Galran had kept popping in and out, as if teleporting from place to place.”

_ “Oh shit _ ,” Hunk breathed out. “That means... he was traveling through time with insane accuracy and precision-”

“- to literally exact locations-” Shiro continued. 

“The only other person who’s ever been able to do that is-”

“Me.” Lance concluded for the two of them, sitting perfectly still. 

Time traveling for Alteans and Galra was not precise, especially when it came to the where. If you pictured arriving in Britain on a certain day you might end up in Ireland instead. It was possible to master arriving at the exact time desired, but the where was a completely different story, it was nearly impossible. However, a very small population of Alteans, one of which was Lance, had gained the ability to travel to extremely precise locations, the most powerful of them being able to land on a one foot square five hundred years in the past. 

But their numbers had been greatly diminished, their kind having been hunted the most heavily so now Lance knew no one else who shared this ability. 

Never before had it been recorded that a Galra could ever gain this power, their jealousy at this fact having been the basis for the further prosecution of their kind. 

But apparently there was one which brought many questions to mind.  _ How was this possible? Is he the only ever or have there been more? Who was this Galran? _

“Anyway, the Galran gave the man a way to contact him so if we can break this man out of prison then we can talk to him and possibly gain a rare ally.”

Lance sighed, leaning backward to rest on his elbows, the rough carpet scratching his skin. “And you want me to teleport directly into the cell to break him out from the inside.”

Shiro smiled apologetically, “you’re the only one anyone knows of who can do it.”

Hunk shook his head, looking slightly miffed. “You can’t ask Lance to do that!” He sounded panicked and nervous, but certain. 

“Hunk, buddy, it’s ok.”

“No it’s not! If you want to break someone out of jail in the 18th century you should do it yourself.”

“ _ Hunk _ , I want to do it.”

Hunk turned rapidly towards Lance, “But why?” Dark brown eyes stared into bright blue ones, head tilted in question. Shiro watched quietly from his position on the bed. 

“Someone else has my power,” he murmured. “I want to meet him, talk to him.”

Hunk continued to stare at Lance, still evidently confused. Finally he sighed heavily, “I guess we're planning a jailbreak.”

Shiro grinned, “So here’s the idea.”

* * *

_ Man it would be so much easier if I could just bring him with me,  _ Lance thought angrily as he pulled on his pants, nearly losing his balance in the process, before looking ruefully at his light blue hoodie that rested in his closet, reluctantly reaching for the clothes Shiro had provided, including the recently stolen coat. 

It was 11:58 on January 17, 2020. 

Shiro had informed them that the man was in jail for not paying his dues (something far too common for this period) and thus security shouldn’t be that heavy. 

Lance walked into his living room, checking the time on the microwave in the small kitchen to the side, to make sure his scheduled arrival would coincide with Shiro and Hunk’s distractions. But to be honest, Lance was doing the majority of the work, the plan resting heavily on his prized ability to travel so precisely. 

A loud charm startled Lance out of his thoughts as his phone alarm rang 12:00 signaling that the jump to the past would be an exact number of days in the past from the current future. Lance closed his eyes, focusing intensely on the time he was headed to, ignoring the phone still ringing on the table, lying discarded on top of randomly scattered printed copies of historical websites. 

One minute his eyes were closed and he was standing in his small and essentially abandoned apartment and, the next they were open, staring at the dirty floor of an old jail cell.

A man was sitting in the corner on a shitty bed, eyes widened in surprise. 

“Hey,” Lance greeted amiably. “I’m your way out.” 

The man Lance had been sent to rescue was much younger than he had expected, probably in his 20s, with white hair and a lean body. 

“Who are you?” The man asked, voice tinged with shock, making to stand up but still staring cautiously.

The Cuban raised an eyebrow, flashing a quick grin, “Lance.” He turned around to kneel at the door and examine the lock without another word.

Despite the vague response, the young man seemed to accept his introduction. “My friends call me Rolo,” he said, hovering over Lance to curiously examine what he was planning to do. 

Still trying to assess the situation and not wanting to fall behind on schedule because of distraction (he struggled with this too often), Lance mindlessly replied, “Are we friends?” 

“If you get me out of here, then sure.”

Lance chuckled mildly. 

Rolo spoke again after a few seconds. “Can you pick it?” 

“No need.”

“And how’s that?” He sounded suspicious, eyebrows slightly pinched. 

Lance smirked, closing his eyes and focusing on traveling a minute into the future, to just outside of the door and at the guard’s side. 

“Hola, no hablo inglés,” Lance greeted, watching the guard’s eyes widen significantly before knocking the man’s head against the wall, just light enough that he would be okay but hard enough that he fell to the floor, unconscious. 

From his cell at the end of the hallway, Rolo gasped, pressing up against the bars in awe. 

Lance turned around with a smirk and a wink directed toward his new acquaintance before reaching down to the guard’s body and grabbing his keys.

The man hadn’t gotten the opportunity to call for any other guards, so Lance took his time, using each key to unlock every cell on his way to Rolo’s. 

At each door he brought his finger to his mouth in the universal “ _ shh”  _ motion. Some of the men remained in their cells, nervous and suspicious. Others cautiously walked out. 

They were all tax evaders so the men themselves weren’t very threatening, in fact some refused to leave the cell, one even closing the door after Lance opened it.

“ _ Boring,”  _ he sang quietly. 

Finally, he reached Rolo and flung the door wide open, the man walking out grandly, stretching his limbs while his lips spread into a wide grin. “Thank you fine sir.”

As the two walked down the hall, remaining silent, Rolo stopped in front of the fallen guard. “Goodbye you corny-faced scrub.”

Lance just rolled his eyes, leading them further out. 

“I hope you have a better plan than to simply walk out of the facilities.”

“And I hope you have better insults than ‘scrub’”. 

They turned around a corner where another guard was waiting, Lance not hesitating to pick up a large rock on the cobbly floor and throw it at him. The guard’s body lurched backward disrupting his attempted movement for his gun. “Too slow,” He quipped, grabbing the gun and shoving the back of it into his face. 

As the two continued through the winding jail, they approached the yard where a crowd had formed. “How dare you!” came a nearly screamed call, the voice sounding distinctly like Shiro.

Hunk’s voice joined the scene with a loudly yelled “These tables are far too close together!” The last part of the sentence came out slightly higher than normal which was probably Hunk’s nervousness shining through. Still Lance was impressed that he managed to summon so much anger. 

Rolo turned to Lance warily, “please don’t tell me those voices are your plan”. The Cuban smiled weakly, before patting the man on the back only to push him into the courtyard where Shiro and Hunk were standing. 

Shiro caught sight of him, reaching for the man and yelling to the crowd of guards. “And look at this!” He exclaimed loudly. “A prisoner has escaped?!” 

It became painstakingly clear that Shiro should never be allowed to do a British accent ever again. 

The guards who had previously been watching them with bored expressions suddenly came to full attention, turning their heads rapidly with confusion once they caught sight of Rolo.

Hunk shook his head in a very exaggerated fashion. “This is a terrible, terrible excuse of a prison that will be  _ most  _ disagreeable to the King when we present the information.”

Hunk had now joined Shiro on the list of people forbidden to speak with any accent at all. 

Was that a tint of Swedish?

Rolo stood in the square, stock still and panicked, staring at Lance as if questioning his motives and sanity. 

Lance just waved before pulling out a piece of gum, sticking it into his mouth and thanking the gods that time travel worked the way it did. 

Even if the time travelers could not bring live passengers, they could carry with them inanimate objects, having just enough residual power to bring anything they were actively touching and focusing on, but not enough to bring a life form. Generally this was most helpful in ensuring you didn’t arrive naked. 

Lance liked to use it for gum. 

He sat there chewing, ignoring the glances towards his figure clearly begging him to hurry. With a point towards his open mouth and the gum resting on his tongue Lance waved them off. When he felt the gum finally grow soft enough for bubbles, Shiro and Hunk had begun to repeat the same points in shriller voices while Rolo had grown more and more nervous. 

“I guess it’s time to act.”

Assessing the situation, he noted that the prison was fairly small, only about ten guards remaining. He popped over to the hallway he was sure Hunk and Shiro must have originally entered through, once again moving one minute into the future. In the hallway he smiled at the two men lying on the floor, collapsed and unconscious.  _ Easier for me _ .  _ Now it’s time for the real fun.  _

One of the collapsed guards had a black baton hanging off his belt and Lance reached down to pick it up, straightening, turning it around in his palm and then grasping it tightly. The other man had a long thin musket, not a gun Lance generally enjoyed if he was being honest. He left the gun there, finding killing completely unnecessary, especially with his powers. 

Baton firmly in hand and smirk in place, Lance popped quickly into place, right next to a young guard who was enraptured by the scene in front of him, his eyes following every one of Shiro's movements far too intently.

Lance winced sympathetically, “Sorry man, in this age homosexuality has  _ got  _ to be hard to deal with.”

The guard didn’t even have time to whip around before he was smacked in the face, crumpling to the floor in a pile of limbs. 

Before the other guards could recognize what exactly was happening, the group had launched into action, Shiro, Hunk and Rolo fighting off anyone in their radius but mostly relying on Lance who was popping around the scene leisurely, smacking each guard with the long rod in his hand. 

“Dude you need to shave,” he said to one man with a massive beard who apparently had fantastic reflexes because he managed to elbow Lance in the stomach, causing him to double over in a strange mix of pain and irritation. “You will  _ so  _ regret that in the morning.”

He might have hit that guy a bit harder than was distinctly necessary. Just a bit. 

“How about less talking and more helping?” Shiro said, his voice slightly winded from exertion. 

“Shiro, don’t interfere with my quipping, also-“ His sentence was interrupted as he teleported a mere risky ten seconds into the future, “-I’m kicking ass over here.” He tapped one guard on the forehead with the baton before kneeing him in the groin and bringing his elbow down on the man’s back as he keeled over in pain. “Ouch, I’m sorry man.” He winced in sympathy before shrugging. 

The majority of Alteans wouldn’t risk going less than a minute into the future for fear that they’d get the time wrong, especially considering precision was so difficult to gain. But traveling such short spans of time was essential to Lance’s fighting style, both physical and with a gun. If you waited too long then people would move and your reasoning for traveling was irrelevant. But because of the risks and Lance’s lack of experience, his limit was ten seconds. 

Some people like Lance were naturally talented at precision traveling, could disappear within seconds and end up precisely where they needed to be, within seconds. But this was a rare sort of person, and most of them had to work for centuries on end before they came anywhere close to Lance’s god given talent. He was lucky, but people sometimes assumed that just because he was naturally talented he hadn’t worked to hone his skill, hadn’t traveled endlessly and trained for hours upon hours ever since he was a child. Even with his born abilities, it had taken many years before he had mastered moving as he did. 

Sometimes it was real annoying to be considered the goofball who had everything handed to him. 

Pulled out of his thoughts, Lance barely dodged the baton aimed for his head. 

“Hey! Now that was just rude.”

Eventually the guard’s numbers dwindled, Lance keeping the force on their toes, unable to use their weapons because the teleporting made it impossible to aim. 

Shiro was, as usual, a powerful ally, his physical combat excelled greatly and he could knock out a guard with a single hit. 

Comparatively, Hunk, though he was the farthest thing from scary, was always a master of brute force, whether it be with a gun or his fists. He barreled into people, assisting his friends in any capacity. 

Even Rolo was helping out anyway he could, having found a fallen soldier’s gun which he used to smack guards in their face and force them to fall backwards. It was really quite amusing. 

Together, there was no way poorly trained guards with too long guns would be able to stop them. 

Soon enough, the group found themselves in the safety of Shiro’s hotel, the exhaustion finally taking control over the adrenaline. Teleporting like he did was no small feat, even for him. 

Lance collapsed on one of the beds, limbs spread out akimbo. Within minutes, he was asleep. 

* * *

When Lance woke up, his eyes blinking open to the bright light streaming in from the window, he immediately noticed that the room was empty. 

He sat up, stretching out his arms and legs lazily with a loud yawn. 

Still mildly exhausted from just waking up, Lance sat there on the bed for a couple of minutes completely spaced out, before finally standing up and walking over to the small kitchen, the cold tiles shocking his bare feet. 

“Nice room,” he said to himself, reaching toward a small note sitting on the counter. He read it aloud, “‘you seemed tired so we left on our own. Rolo is taking us to the Galra’s ‘Mailbox’’. Aw that’s considerate of them.”

At the bottom of the note was an address and time.

Both Alteans and Galran had what was commonly referred to as “Mailboxes”. 

It was kind of like a phone number, the only way time travelers could truly communicate considering it was impossible to get wifi or cell service in most time periods. 

The “Mailbox” itself often varied in shape or size, but generally it was a hidden place to put notes and small packages. It’s location was a bit tricky to keep constant simply because of changing times and buildings, so the majority of time travelers had organized institutions, protected from humans. However, some (Lance, Shiro, Allura, Pidge, Hunk and a few other suspicious souls) liked to keep their boxes in unique locations. 

Once you got old enough you would simply go far back in time and “create” a box almost like you were creating a 401k. Depending on when you were born, the box was automatically set in accordance with the present. 

Generally only travelers used the boxes, simply because there were a few essential steps. 

First, it was imperative that anyone who wanted to contact a traveler had to write the date of the  _ current _ present on the envelope. That way they would know when it was sent and only the most recent or current version of the traveler would read it. When that date came, the letter would be “available” to read (not before because breaking that rule meant the traveler’s demise). On the outside of most boxes was a machine set to track the current time and date. This meant that if you were leaving the note at 12:00 on February 4th in the 1700’s but the “present” date was 12:00 on February 4th, in 2020, you had to write the latter. If you wanted to set a meeting place or date in the past that would have to be put  _ inside _ the letter. 

Humans could use the boxes, but they would need intricate knowledge of the time traveling world. 

If Rolo had access then he was clearly a trusted confidant. 

Sitting down at the counter, Lance checked the time before hurriedly getting up, realizing he had slept in far too late. “Shit I gotta go!” He grabbed the clanky room key next to the note and teleported to the address given. 

Soon enough he stood outside a small wooden shack in the middle of a field and he barely had anytime to ask himself why he was at a shack before the sight before him registered. 

Shiro and Hunk were being held at gunpoint standing with their hands in the air, Shiro’s arm had been removed and placed onto the floor next to their feet. 

Across from them was a large group of threatening men who looked like humans but must have been time travelers what with the weapons in their hands which had decidedly not been invented yet (ugh it was so rude to bring spoilers to the past).

Because they were altogether threatening, Lance sort of assumed they were Galran but they could have been Altean for all he knew. 

Kneeling in front of the group with a gun raised to his head was Rolo, who looked terrified out of his wits. 

“Wow, a surprise party,” Lance cautiously started walking towards them, mere inches at a time. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Move and I kill him,” threatened the largest Galra, his voice dark and authoritative and his posture proud, smug, and almost beastly. He was clearly the leader, the men bracketing him but not saying anything. 

“Okay can we just calm down?” Lance tried, stopping in his tracks but reaching his hands out placatingly. 

“Sorry Lance,” Shiro said apologetically. “We put the note in the mailbox then came over here to Rolo’s home and well someone apparently beat us.”

Next to him, Hunk was nearly shaking from fear but he managed a small, “they were waiting for us.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “And how did they know we were around these parts.”

Rolo’s eyes snapped to Lance’s as he shakily said, “I swear, Lance, it wasn’t me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a female voice sounded from behind the group. She was pretty with blonde hair and nice features, but her snide expression ruined the image. “Hello Alteans.”

“Nyma?” Rolo questioned, his head twisting and tilted in confusion towards the girl who seemed fairly unashamed but whose eyes flashed guiltily at the sight of him. 

Lance would have bet his life that this was Rolo’s time traveling ex. 

“Rolo,” she greeted, avoiding looking directly at him. 

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Even to an unwitting party like Lance, that sounded like a bullshit answer from someone who didn’t truly know. 

“No, I actually don’t.”

“When I left, you shouldn’t have tried to find me, you got mixed up with the Galra, the time traveling world, with  _ him.”  _ The last part had a slight tremor of disgust but layered fear. 

Now Lance stepped forward, “who’s  _ him?” _

Nyma sneered but didn’t answer Lance’s question. “You should have stopped Rolo, but the minute you got involved with the Galra, with  _ him  _ you doomed yourself. The Galra have been watching you just waiting for the little Alteans to come.”

So that answered the question of who this group was. 

“I repeat,” Lance interjected. “Who’s  _ him?” _

Before anyone answered his question Shiro piped up from the background. “Why betray your own people?” 

“My people,” Nyma scoffed. “For years I fought for the Alteans, years. I’m an Ancient after all. But in the end they could offer me nothing,” she spat. 

Lance took advantage of the momentary silence this produced to inquire for the  _ third  _ time, “who’s  _ him _ ?”

And  _ once again _ , he was ignored. 

“Well I guess I’ll just go fuck myself.”

In the background Shiro made a face. “Lance, don’t be crude.”

“You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me. If you want this Galran as an ally, we kinda need the dude alive but we’re in a fucking pickle here, no one can deny it. I will be as crude as I want.” Deep beneath his skin he felt this itch, this need to move, to help, but a sense of helplessness infected his mind, flooding it with adrenaline, irritation and anger. “I mean give me a break like-“

“Shut up!” The largest Galran interrupted, shoving the gun sharply into Rolo’s head with a crazed nature. “He’ll die first now that you're here, and then we’ll get you guys.”

The sound of the safety being turned off was too audible in the silence. 

Lance’s new friend and their essential ally tore his eyes away from Nyma and closed them solemnly. 

Lance’s blood was boiling but he had no gun and he was sure if he disappeared then Rolo’s life wouldn’t be spared. There was no way he could teleport quick enough to stop the pulling of the trigger, ten seconds would be far too slow. Shiro and Hunk must have also been aware of this fact as they stared at him, shaking their heads. “Now just listen here,” he attempted. 

But the Galran only began to count down, his face twisted in victory. “3… 2…”

Just as Lance was about to step forward in desperation there was a small  _ pop  _ and suddenly someone new had appeared. 

Standing before the group, in the middle of the Alteans and the Galra was a boy dressed in clothes so far removed from the time period that it was clear he had made no efforts to adjust to the era. A teenager, around Lance’s age, had appeared in all black with ripped skinny jeans and a tight short sleeve shirt that stood in contrast to the strong yet pale arms. He was blowing bubbles and headphones were dangling out of his ears. As if the teenager wasn’t out of place enough, two straps stretched across a lean chest, each clearly attached to the two Japanese swords on his back. 

The next thing Lance noticed was that the teenager was extremely good looking, body lean and muscular all at once, eyes piercing and dark hair falling into his face. The back of his head was clearly newly cut short, styled like an undercut. Spiraling around his bicep was a beautiful chinese dragon tattoo, expertly colored and reaching up his neck, on full display thanks to his hair. 

It was the first time Lance had ever seen another time traveler with a large tattoo.

The majority of Alteans avoided them simply because it was permanent to a different level. If you cemented your body with a tattoo, it would never fade, this was also true if you got a tattoo even after you stopped aging. 

Lance, like this stranger, had many tattoos, in fact they were nearly matching. He could see others peeking out from underneath his shirt, but his left arm was bare, both of them choosing to ink one arm and keep one blank. In fact, they were so similar that the art covering Lance’s arm was also a dragon but with large graceful wings curling around his limb rather than a thin twisting body. 

Lance’s was primarily blue, the stranger’s tattoo was mostly red. But both had tails that blended into purple. 

It was almost eerie how similar their ink was. 

The stranger, despite currently leaning back leisurely and blowing bubbles casually, had an extremely dangerous air surrounding him, threatening in a way that enemies might underestimate simply because of his leaner size and youth. 

But Lance, who was also a teenager constantly underestimated because of his looks, knew better. 

Whoever this stranger was, he was extremely dangerous. 

It was clear that the Galra did not agree, as they seemed to be ridiculing him, snickering amongst each other as the stranger fiddled with something in his hands, his leather and beaded bracelets sliding up his arm as he picked at what seemed to be a knot in a cord necklace. 

Both Nyma and the Galran leader had gone white. 

“You called, Rolo?” the stranger asked casually, still looking down at his hands. Finally, with a little cheer, the teenager pulled the knot apart and put the necklace on, the small  _ pop  _ of his gum echoing in the silence as he finally looked up to find everyone staring at him. “Huh.”

“No way,” Shiro whispered from behind, his voice tinged with the unmistakable sound of disbelief. 

Rolo had opened his eyes, and upon seeing the newcomer he visibly relaxed, his body going lax and relief clear on his face, the corner of his mouth tilting up as if he had  _ already _ escaped death despite the gun still pointed at his head. Nyma however was in hysterics, her previously cocky and smug face had fallen to be replaced by unadulterated panic. With a frenzied nature, she turned toward the large Galran, clearly panicking as she said, “You promised me he wouldn’t be here!” 

The Galran didn’t speak. 

Another  _ pop _ rang out in the silence. 

Very slowly the stranger began to grin, slyly greeting the scared woman, “Hi, Nyma.”

Her glare and venomous tone had little effect when everyone could practically smell her fear. “ _ Keith _ .”

_ Keith.  _

“I thought I told you to stay away,” he said conversationally, tone light and calm but anyone could recognize it’s dangerous edge, could hear the anger seeping into his words. The hands that hung by the stranger’s side were twitching ever so slightly, as if itching to reach towards his swords. 

The teenager‘s body was in constant movement, hands twitching, jaw chewing, eyes shifting and feet tapping, but it barely had any affect on his cool demeanor, everything so slight that it would remain hidden to the unknowing observer. 

Once again, Lance was struck by just how attractive this  _ Keith  _ was. Up until this point he wasn’t aware of how weak he was for dangerous guys. In his defense who  _ wouldn’t  _ be weak for this guy. Those eyes, that sharp jaw,  _ the tattoos.  _ Plus, reigning back anger and power was just  _ so hot _ . Was he drooling? It kind of felt like he was drooling. 

One of the Galran soldiers started laughing boisterously, “Look at the runt acting like he’s all tough.” His amusement was apparently so great that any sort of defense he might have mustered had disappeared as he pointed to the stranger. 

Soon enough all the Galran we’re making mocking noises, blowing kisses, but the stranger remained quiet. 

Only the leader was silent, still as pale as he was at the first  _ pop.  _ Lance saw as he began to pull the trigger and panic coursed through his body. But before anyone could even react, the man was shouting out in pain, the gun falling to the floor before he could pull the trigger. 

Keith was now standing behind them, his sword having cut the man’s hand off. “I told you last time, Sendak, that if I ever saw you near my friends again, I’d kill you. And yet, here you are.”

In mere seconds, Sendak looked down at his now missing hand and promptly disappeared, or more accurately fled, Nyma followed suit, and Rolo was slumping in relief. 

The other Galra had fallen back in surprise, but they couldn't react quickly enough, because before they could say anything Keith had them on the floor. He fought like nothing Lance had ever seen before, launching himself into the air so that when he arrived two seconds later he was mid flight, perfectly timing each jump so that he landed on a Galra. 

One by one the soldiers were falling and Lance finally decided to begin helping, taking Rolo and pushing him towards Hunk before reaching toward the gun still clenched in Sendak’s cut off hand. 

_ Now this was fighting, _ Lance thought to himself. 

He heard Shiro warn him, “you don’t know how Keith will move, don’t shoot.” But he ignored it, because Lance could see Keith’s style, knew how to fit into it. 

The teenager was chaotic. Every move he made bordered on reckless, his movements were spontaneous and unpredictable but at the same time they were smooth and graceful. He was clearly extremely skilled, traveling and fighting as if it were instinct. 

To some it might have seemed like he had thousands of years of experience, but if this man was a Galra, he couldn’t have had more than 20. 

Lance began picking off charging Galra, shooting their shoulders just before Keith appeared to knock them down. 

Finally the Galra began to rush Lance, one coming close but before he could lay a finger on him, Keith had dropped to the floor, traveling in that position so that when he arrived, the man’s legs were knocked out from under him. Lance put a bullet in one leg almost immediately. 

It didn’t take long for the two to take down all the enemies, and when the final one fell, Keith stopped, panting slightly and his adrenaline clearly pumping but otherwise looking like the battle was nothing for him. 

Lance was in shock. 

The rate at which Keith traveled made it seem like he was  _ only  _ teleporting, leaving barely a second before his appearance. 

This suggested that Keith was traveling to only a second or two in the future, something extremely difficult to do simply because of the precision it required. To have this level of accuracy and control was pure insanity and to be crazy enough to try was a completely different level of reckless.

On the other hand, the fight had been fun as hell, the exact type of excitement Lance thrived for, the type of excitement that kept him away from Shiro’s friends, that made him steal things from the rich and insult those in power who desperately needed to be put in their place.

Keith sheathed his swords, making a face at the blood on one and wiping it on an unconscious Galran. 

He began walking toward them and as he passed Lance he paused minutely to say “You’ve got a hell of a shot there,” before moving toward Shiro. He may or may not have gotten way too many butterflies at the casually spoken compliment. 

Shiro was standing there still in slight shock, though he was attempting to mask his clear surprise. “Keith,” the older man greeted, crossing his arms in disappointment. 

“Wait you know him, Shiro?” Lance questioned, getting a sense of deja vu when he was ignored.

“Shiro, don’t be like that.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you could time travel.” 

“To be fair neither did you.”

Shiro seemed to pause before accepting this, a smile growing on his face as he pulled Keith into a brotherly hug, causing the younger man to squeak in surprise. 

“Shiro,” Keith whined, voice slightly muffled. 

“Ok, what the fuck is happening?” Lance said, slapping his hands together, looking from where the teenager was flailing his arms, trying to get away from the suffocating embrace, to Hunk and Rolo. 

Finally Keith was released and he turned to Lance. “Who  _ the fuck _ are you?”

Unlike the compliment about his skills with a gun, this question did  _ not _ inspire giddiness within Lance. 

“Keith,” Shiro admonished. 

Lance reeled back, affronted. “Excuse me? Who the fuck am I? Who the fuck are you?”

The older man stepped in between them, Keith looking like he was gearing up for another fight and Lance bristling. 

“Keith, meet Lance and Hunk. They’re both Alteans. Guys, meet Keith. We met and became friends back when I spent time in Japan. Up until now I thought he was a human.”

The end was accompanied by a glare to which Keith merely shrugged. 

“Though back then he had more of a mullet.”

Keith’s face grew red and annoyed. “I did not!”

Shiro made a face, “yeah you did.”

“And what’s Mullet here doing with ancient swords?”

If possible, Keith scowled more. “I spent a lot of time in feudal Japan, dumbass. Also, I cut my hair once I left that era.”

“Well anyway, thanks for the assist, Keith, but we definitely could have handled it without you,” 

Keith laughed loudly, sparking more irritation in Lance’s stomach. “Looked that way to me.”

Before Lance could offer a rebuttal, Keith had approached Rolo, the man slapping him on the back in greeting. 

Hunk smiled, stretching a hand out to Keith. “Thanks for the save, Lance is grateful even if he acts like an ass.” Keith exhaled lightly in amusement as he took the hand and shook it. 

“Betrayed by my best friend,” Lance bemoaned, shaking his head in the background, before suddenly stepping forward with intent. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do  _ that. _ ”

“Putting emphasis on a single word doesn’t mean I know what you’re talking about.”

Lance sighed in exasperation, waving his arm in front of Keith’s face as the boy scowled and looked to Hunk for an explanation. 

Hunk laughed lightly, placing his large hands on Lance’s arms and shoving them down, out of Keith’s sight, while saying, “he means that insane fighting you did back there.”

“Oh,” Keith shrugged, pulling his headphones from where they were hanging at the side of his legs and twisting them around his hand. “I can teleport to specific locations.”

Neither Hunk nor Lance were satisfied with this explanation. 

“But how can a Galran-” Hunk began, before Lance interrupted. 

“Yeah so can I, doesn’t mean I can do  _ that.” _

“Will you stop with the  _ ‘that’ _ ?!”

Hunk stepped in once again as the two began to take menacing steps toward one another, “so you’re saying that’s just pure skill?” 

And this Keith nodded, seemingly confused as to what exactly they were asking, something that only further stirred the pit of irritation boiling within Lance because  _ of course Keith would be confused, his talent is obviously all natural.  _

“Well actually I had to practice a lot to get better at it,” Keith cut in, tearing Lance from his annoyed thoughts. 

“Did I say that out loud?”

Hunk and Keith gave him a flat stare. “Yes.”

Lance sheepishly flushed, attempting to cover up his embarrassment by scowling at the same time, but he suspected that not even Shiro -who had only just approached- believed him.

“Keith: was wondering if you wanted to help on the next mission,” The older man said with a grin, his eyes intensely fond. It was probably the most excited Lance had ever seen Shiro, an eagerness seeping into his tone that had Lance and Hunk looking back and forth from asian to asian, both wondering the same thing: what exactly was their relationship?

Keith shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the confused glances of his new companions. “Sounds cool.”

Shiro nodded, smiling like a proud brother, before turning to Hunk and Lance. “I’d love to have you guys there too.”

Hunk turned to Lance as if asking him for approval and the Cuban could feel the eagerness pouring out of him. “So we’re your second string, huh?”

“Seems like it,” Keith said, picking at his nails idly, hip cocked to the side, the tattoo on his arm reaching up his pale hand and the sword handles on his back glinting in the light. 

“No,” Shiro interrupted, as stern as ever. “I was going to invite you guys either way.”

Now Lance had already made up his mind to go with them. Not only had the black haired boy intrigued him with his beautiful eyes and, well, everything else, but Lance was also desperate to learn more about Keith’s abilities, to see if he could do what this Galran had managed to learn in such a short amount of time. Lance had a sneaking suspicion that Shiro did as well, because with that sparked fondness was a small tingle of curiosity, especially considering that Shiro and Keith were clearly at one point very close. There was no doubt that the older traveler was questioning how Keith could have slipped under his nose. 

“Maybe, depending on what we’re doing. You know I don’t do diplomatic missions.” 

Shiro sighed, as Keith narrowed his eyes, evidently not wanting to deal with diplomacy which was probably best because it was obvious he wouldn’t be any good at it. “No Lance, it’s not a diplomatic mission. And it’s pretty close to here, just over in the colonies.”

Hunk turned beseechingly to Lance, eyes big and persuasive, to which Lance chuckled mildly and smiled wryly. “Yeah, we’re in.” 

“Yes!” Hunk cheered. “I knew you always had a soft spot for the American Revolution.”

“Really? What gave it away? Was it the rant or the fifty times we’ve been there.”

From the sidelines Shiro was smiling mildly with amusement and the corner of Keith’s mouth was curved slightly upward. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other,” the Galran said, picking at his nails once again. “Guess you aren’t doing the right things with your time.” His tone was neutral, but his eyes flickered brightly, teasing, basically  _ asking  _ for a fight. 

Lance bristled on instinct. “I bet I’ve done way more exciting things than you.” He thought he heard Shiro mutter a  _ mature _ but he couldn’t be sure. 

Clearly never one to back down, Keith stepped toward him, his expression challenging. “Oh really? Prove it.”

“Well I saw Jefferson write the Declaration of Independence.”

Keith scoffed, “basic. I saw King George recieve it.”

Now Lance had to admit that the idea of seeing the tyrant king read the declaration was appealing, an interesting perspective on a famous occurrence. But Lance could never say this aloud, of course. 

“I saw Paul Revere ride in discreetly while decidedly  _ not _ yelling that dumb ‘the british are coming’ bullshit.” This time he thought he might have heard Hunk mutter  _ eloquent.  _

“Well  _ I  _ warned him.” Keith tilted his chin upwards proudly, smirking at Lance’s outraged face. 

Lance laughed outright and disbelievingly. “As if. Everyone knows they were dispatched by Joseph Warren.” 

“Both were friends of mine, especially Revere. Also, your doubt annoys me.”

His laughter continued. “Yeah right! Well what’s his horse’s name? The one he rode to warn them.”

“The horse he rode was borrowed, name was Brown Beauty.”

Lance stopped laughing as he narrowed his eyes at Keith, who was still resolute and expression serious. “You’re kidding me right.”

Keith shook his head. 

“Fine, fine. I saw them throw tea off the harbor at the Boston Tea Party!”

“I think you mean the  _ racist  _ Tea Party.”

Well… that was a good point, Lance had tried to convince them that the masks weren’t cool but in the end he couldn’t change what he knew to be unfortunately cemented in history.  _ Obviously, _ he had refused to participate.

“I’ve been to the Boston M-“

“Don’t even finish that, that event was in no way cool or fun.”

Lance huffed in defeat. “The propaganda was,” he pouted. 

When Keith opened his mouth to continue the argument, a stern voice broke in, “We really don’t have time for this, Allura’s waiting for us.”

Lance straightened excitedly. “She’s coming?”

“Keep your dick in check Lance,” Keith said snidely, causing Lance to scowl angrily at him, “also, who’s Allura?”

“Wait,” Hunk stepped in, having been silently observing for the past minutes, “Allura? This mission must be kind of a big deal if Allura is coming.” He chewed his lip anxiously, looking towards Shiro as if begging him to deny it. 

But Shiro only nodded seriously, Lance and Hunk falling silent with realization. “The entire team is coming.”

“The entire team?” Lance questioned, surprised considering the Altean’s most powerful team very rarely convened in full. “The Holts, Adam?”

Another nod.

“Guys,” Keith tried again. “Who’s Allura?”

Lance continued to ignore the question because he was petty and considered it poetic justice.

“It won’t be dangerous, right?” Hunk asked, worry creasing his brow. 

“I mean,” Shiro began apologetically. “When are our lives not dangerous?” 

Lance draped himself over Hunk’s larger body, wrapping his arm around the big man’s chest. “Hunk, buddy,” He said, hoping to comfort his friend. “You’ll be fine. You know I’d never let anything happen to you. And I’m not the only one, everyone on that team is smart and powerful. If they’re there and Allura’s there then you have no reason to worry.”

“Ok,  _ who the fuck is Allura?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls respect service workers, also lance is generally a very nice, respectful boi but everyone snaps sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> once again i wanna say this is meant to be humorous, not offensive to anyone except racists and jerks lol :) remember: everyone's history is deeply flawed and i'm not talking about present situations :)  
> i will try to stay as close to history as possible while tweaking things to be more entertaining but if you notice something glaringly wrong lemme know! thx for reading and make sure to leave ur comments! <3


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